


Her Majesty, Mrs. Smith

by RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8198758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: Queen Rose deals with an unwelcome suggestion from one of her advisers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The setting is deliberately vague, but is roughly around the time of Queen Elizabeth I. Title and inspiration taken from 'Her Majesty, Mrs. Brown.'
> 
> This is the first of several "Rose as a Queen" WIPs I've been working on for ages. As it was the closest to completion - only needed about 500 words! - I decided to polish it and finish it up.

"Surely there are better suited companions."

"He is the dearest friend I have ever had. There is none better suited."

"But, Madam, he is so... common."

Her back stiffened. "You forget your place, sir," she intoned icily.

"Your well-being is my place," he countered, his tone just as hard. Then, softer, "There is talk he shares your bed."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And if he does?"

"You do not deny it?"

"I say nothing at all on the matter. Your meddling in my life stops at the door to my chambers. Who I choose to invite inside is none of your business."

"It very much is my business if my unwed Queen bears a common man's bastard."

"Well, then, you may rest easy, Lord Burghley."

"So you do deny the rumors?"

She stood abruptly. "This meeting is at an end."

"Answer the question, Madam."

"Or what, Lord Burghley?" She waited a moment, her eyes hard and challenging as she looked down at him, but he said nothing further. "Leave me."

With a huff, he dragged himself from his chair, sketched a terse bow, and left the room.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him had barely faded when the other door to the room opened. She dropped back into her chair, not even turning to look at the man who joined her. The thump of his boots on the stone stopped when he stood in the corner of her vision, far enough away to ensure there were no accidental touches. She'd known him since her childhood, long before her father's death, when the Crown was just a dream of a hope, yet he clung to such little displays of etiquette like a lifeline.

"He does not like you," she offered.

"None of them do."

"You know that their opinions mean nothing to me."

"Is it wise," he replied, ever the diplomat, "to ignore the counsel of your advisors?"

"You would have me heed them? Find myself a husband amongst the nobility and produce an heir as soon as possible?"

She knew him so well that even without looking she was able to perfectly time the pause he used to control his fury at the suggestion until, his jaw tight, he said, "It is the way things are done."

"And where would you fit in that life?"

"Anywhere you wish."

It was a truth oft admitted, that he would gladly live his life at her whim. In fact, he did already, skirting the edges of her court because she wished him there but the nobles who surrounded her wouldn't tolerate him any closer.

She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Forgive my indelicacy, Your Majesty, but you look unwell. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you. I think I might retire."

"Of course." He bowed deeply. "Good night, Your Majesty."

"Good night, Mr. Smith."

She waited until the door closed behind him to stand. Ignoring the servants who were positioned at varying intervals around the room, all poised to attend to her every need, she left through the other door, the one that had seen the back side of Lord Burghley that evening, and made her way upstairs to her chambers.

Clara was the first to notice her arrival, sinking into a deep curtsy when she entered the room. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

Everyone else stopped what they were doing and curtsied as well.

"Good evening, ladies." At her vague wave, they all turned back to their chores, drifting out of the room one by one until only her two closest confidants remained.

"I don't know why you allow Lord Burghley such liberties," Martha said once they were alone. "No one else would dare demand a meeting with you so late."

He'd arrived without warning after dinner, insisting he only needed a few minutes of her time. Those 'few minutes' had turned into more than an hour. "He wants me off balance, thinks it will make me more malleable."

Donna came forward and with a few gentle but efficient touches turned her towards the bed post. "What did he want to see you about, Your Majesty?"

"Nothing I haven't already heard a thousand times."

She tsked, but uncharacteristically offered no advice as she began unlacing the dress.

It was obvious the moment they were no longer alone when even the mundane noises of Martha shuffling around in the wardrobe faded into the background. He stood barely inside the door, his bright blue eyes fixed on her, his strong features softened by candlelight. He'd removed his boots in favor of slippers and wore a simple tunic that matched his eyes over a pair of dark trousers, a far cry from the complicated ensemble of just a few minutes previous; it was a wonder he'd managed it so quickly. Her eyes drank him in, the sight of his broad shoulders and lean body never failing to make her heart beat faster in her chest, and his lips curled up into a small smile.

Martha cleared her throat sharply, breaking them out of the spell they had fallen under.

The first to recover, he nodded at Donna. "I'll do that."

"She should be resting," Martha reminded them.

He raised his hands. "She'll rest."

"Your Maj--"

Donna moved away and took Martha's arm. "Come on. Save your breath. You saw how they looked at each other, nothing you say is going to penetrate their thick skulls."

"But --"

Rose turned. "Good night."

With that acceptance from her he finally moved deeper into the room, nodding to Donna as she practically dragged Martha out.

"Thank you, Martha, for taking such good care of her."

They both smiled when Donna grumbled under her breath about stubborn idiots, the smiles turning to laughter when their gazes caught.

"Mr. Smith."

She extended her hand when he drew close enough. He took it in his own and pressed his lips against her fair skin.

"Mrs. Smith."

With those two words she let the mantle of her title fall away so that she could enjoy the few precious hours a night she was allowed to be Rose Smith and not Queen Rose Tyler. He caught her as she swayed a bit, his arm sliding easily around her waist as he pulled her tightly against him.

"Are you alright? I can call Martha back."

"I'm fine. I just missed you so much."

"You just saw me, not twenty minutes past."

"It's not the same and you know it." She nestled deeper into his chest. "That's not me seeing my husband."

"Well, that's strange, because I always see my wife when I look at you. I see the strong, beautiful woman I married, the woman I always knew was bound for great things."

She didn't answer for a moment, simply allowed the feeling of his body against hers and the familiar warm smell of him to comfort her.

_"Marry me."_

_His eyes bulged. "You're joking." When she made no indication that she was, he gestured at the road where the dust from the riders' retreating hooves had not yet settled. "Did you not hear what they said? Your cousin is sick, dying, and that makes you --"_

_"I know. How could I not have known this day was coming? Yes, whether it happens now or twenty years from now, when James dies I'll be Queen, but at my age and still unmarried, I'll be a puppet for them to do with as they please. They'll use me for their own ends or, failing that, will find a husband who will manage me for them. I don't want that, and the country, the people, deserve better."_

_"You don't know yourself very well if you think a group of stodgy old men is going to be any match for you. And you can't possibly think having me as a husband will strengthen your position."_

_She felt her cheeks heat. "Well, I'd rather hoped you might agree for other reasons."_

_There was a pause. "Other reasons?"_

_"Never mind. Forget I said anything."_

_"Rose." It was the tone he used when she was being stubborn._

_"Really, John, you're going to make me say it?" He made a great show of crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. I love you, have done for ages."_

_Silence met her words. Then as her stomach was settling somewhere in the region of her ankles, he let his mask drop and she saw what he'd been hiding from her for years. He loved her!_

_Hands and lips met between them in a first kiss that was so uniquely them, Rose rushing in, headstrong with no experience, and John trying desperately to rein her into a slow, methodical pattern._

_They were secretly married within the week, at the earliest moment they could get a minister to perform the ceremony. And when James died a few days later, John knelt at Rose's feet that night before bed and swore an oath of allegiance to a woman who had always been a Queen in his eyes._

And now, if anyone ever caught him looking at her with a lovesick expression on his face, well, absolute loving devotion to his Queen was expected from someone like him. It was courtly on his part as far as anyone else knew, and it was always assumed to be unrequited, so she had to avert her gaze from him at all times lest they see that it was not.

"You're far too good to me, John."

"I think you'll find the common belief is quite the opposite," he sniffed.

"I meant it when I said I don't care what they think. The whole bloody privy council can take their princes and their dukes and that one bloody count who won't go away and marry them themselves; I love you."

With gentle hands, he lifted her face. "And I love you."

They'd found their stride in the six years they'd been married, and their kisses more often than not tended to start playful before sliding quickly into the reason Donna had been so keen to escort Martha out of Rose's chamber. This kiss was no exception, and it wasn't long before they broke apart, gasping.

"How are you?" he asked, his breath hot against her face.

"I'm fine. Martha's just being overly cautious."

"If you're sure..."

Her answer was immediate and confident. "Yes."

"Can I take you to bed?"

"Please."

He made a noise deep in his throat. "Turn around, let me get you out of that dress."

Rose did as he asked, shivering when his fingers deftly continued what Donna had started. He often joked that he hadn't realized being consort to the Queen would include the duties of a lady's maid, but both of them loved it when her court finery fell away with his efforts. She felt the heat of him when he leaned in closer as the back of the dress gaped wider and wider open, anticipation building like fire up her spine, culminating in a full body shiver when John's lips pressed against the bared skin of her back.

He traced a line of kisses from one of her shoulders to the other, raising gooseflesh on her skin and causing warmth to pool in her belly.

"John, please."

"One moment, Donna will have my head if I don't hang this dress up."

She snorted, but stepped out of the dress and waited as patiently as she could while he walked over to the wardrobe and made an absolute muddle of hanging the dress, leaving one shoulder off of the hanger and putting it in the wardrobe so low that the skirts bunched up on the floor.

“That's not much better than leaving it lying on the floor," she teased when he joined her again.

"I couldn't do it right," he replied, eyes twinkling as he lifted her effortlessly and deposited her on the bed, "if I did she'd expect me to do it right every time."

Rose tugged on the sleeve of his tunic when he crawled up next to her. "Forgetting something?"

"No. Not yet." He placed a kiss on her stomach. "Relax, let me take care of you."

* * *

"I agree with Martha about Burghley," he said later as they lay in each other's arms, sweat drying on their skin in the night air. "You wouldn't let anyone else come here so late in the evening and scold you like that. And he has the gall to call you 'madam' and give you ultimatums he has no ability to enforce. He doesn't respect you."

"I don't like it either, John, but what would you have me do? If I say nothing he will continue to insist, so either I give in to his demands or I tell him why I cannot."

His arm tightened around her, but there was no argument he could make that hadn't already been made, and after a few minutes, his grip loosened again as he drifted off to sleep.

Early the next morning, before the majority of the household had arisen, Rose braided her hair, dressed in the plainest gown she owned, and slipped her hand into John's. The walk through the secret passages and stairwells took only minutes and then they stepped out onto the fourth floor together.

"Mummy!"

The ear-splitting scream rang out from across the room and the owner of the voice barreled into her an instant later.

" _Oomph._ Hello, Princess, I missed you, too." Rose bent down and picked up the dark-headed muppet attached to her legs.

After a lingering hug, she pulled back. "Mummy, why can't you come visit more? Why does the Queen have to keep you so busy?"

The questions were becoming more frequent, digging like a knife in her chest every time they were asked. "I'm very important to the Queen, Susan. Without me, I dare say the country wouldn't run at all." Beside her, John ran his hand down her arm in silent support. Since his daytime duties at court were practically non-existent, he was able to spend much more time in the nursery than she was. "But I don't want to talk about the Queen right now, I want to talk about you. How have you been?"

Her daughter's crystal blue eyes glittered with excitement. "Really good! Mrs. Simpson says I'm the smartest girl she's ever taught."

"Of course you are," John laughed, "you're our daughter."

Rose’s laughter joined his when Susan leveled a gaze at her father that could only be described as exasperation before turning back to her. "We're doing maths, Mummy. One 'n one is two; two 'n two is four; four 'n four is... is..." She bit her lip and started wiggling her fingers systematically against Rose's bodice. "Eight!"

She bounced her lightly in her arms. "That's very good, Princess!"

Thanks to John, Rose's childhood had remained relatively normal after her father's death propelled her to heiress presumptive, and they wanted that for Susan as well. But because the little princess would eventually have an important role to fill, Rose had had the idea of opening up the old school rooms of the castle to the peasant children. She'd had a teacher interviewed and hired, and then quietly slipped Susan into the class when she was old enough.

"Mrs. Simpson scolded Tommy Baker during lessons," she whispered in the booming way of a child. "She said his father will never let him sell biscuits when he's older if he can't count."

"Well, Mrs. Simpson is exactly right. How else will Tommy Baker know how many biscuits his customers want to buy?"

Susan's brow creased briefly as she considered this new information. "I didn't think about it like that," she said sagely.

"You didn't think about it like that," Rose parroted back and then tickled Susan's sides until her tiny giggles rang throughout the room. When she looked up, Mrs. Simpson stood a little ways off, holding a bundle in her arms.

"John?"

He took Susan from her and stepped back as Rose walked up to the teacher.

"How is he?"

"He's a lamb."

Rose gestured. "May I?"

"Of course, ma'am." After a moment of shuffling, Rose held the baby in her arms. Mrs. Simpson smiled down at them. "He's a good eater. And he sleeps through the night with nary a peep."

"So soon?"

A nod. "You should be proud, ma'am."

Rose smirked and glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, I should, because he certainly didn't get that from his father."

"Oi," John called, sending Susan into another fit of giggles.

Turning back to the baby, Rose noticed that his eyes had opened. While her daughter had inherited John's hair and eyes, her son's features were like looking at herself in miniature, the sole exception being the slightly reddish tinge to his hair, a trait he'd inherited from his grandfather.

"Hello there, Jonathan Peter Smith."

She walked back to John and Susan and sat down with them, and for roughly an hour, they were allowed to be a family.

Officially, Susan and Jonathan were the children of a woman named Marion, an invention of theirs who was one of Queen Rose's ladies in waiting, and there were only five people who knew otherwise: Rose, John, Mrs. Simpson, Martha, who'd delivered both babes, and Donna, who'd assisted.

Burghley would have an attack of apoplexy if he knew there was a legitimate heir to the throne living in the castle, a prince whose father was his most hated adversary, but Rose knew that the day was coming when he would have to be told. The occasion of Susan's birth had passed with only a small celebration, but no anxiety. A daughter, even a future Queen, presuming there was never a son to usurp her position, could be hidden away without much difficulty. Neither of them had said it, but they'd both known that her strong resemblance to John had also served to protect her identity. And when Rose had gotten pregnant a second time, both of them had quietly hoped for another girl. Jonathan's birth had changed things.

"How about, for your birthday next week, we take a trip together, all four of us? The Queen has a house we can visit."

Susan's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, yes, Mummy!" Susan squeezed her tightly. "That sounds wonderful!"

All too soon it was time for them to leave, other children were arriving and lessons needed to begin.

"Are you sure about taking the children out of the castle?" John asked her once they were safely back in her chambers.

"They can't live their lives cooped up here. A few days at the lodge will do them - and me - some good. I'd like to spend some time being their mother."

* * *

They'd only been at the lodge a short time when disaster struck.

All of their precautions, leaving separately, John taking Susan and Donna taking Jonathan, had been for naught because Burghley had seen John and followed him.

The carriage pulled up the drive at breakneck speed, giving John only a moment to push Susan behind him. Without even waiting for a footman to open the carriage door, Burghley thrust it open and heaved himself from the seat.

"I knew you were playing the Queen for a fool,” he said, advancing on John. “And hiding on her own property! Is she here with you, your lover, that child's mother?"

"My _wife_ is inside tending our son, and you would be wise to watch your tongue when you speak of her, Lord Burghley."

"I do not take orders from you, Smith. So the child is not a bastard, it makes no difference. The Queen --"

"The Queen is well acquainted with my wife and would not appreciate you besmirching her good name."

"The Queen is not here, though, is she?"

The door behind him creaked open and John smirked.

"I think you'll find, Lord Burghley," Rose said, "that that's not quite true."

As Lord Burghley's jaw dropped, John turned and picked up Susan. A few steps brought him to Rose's side where he stopped and leaned down to place a brief kiss on her lips. She cupped his cheek with the hand that wasn't holding Jonathan and ignored the people in their courtyard as they all, save Burghley himself, fell to their knees.

"Madam, I demand --"

"No, Lord Burghley, the time for your demands is over. This man is my lawful husband and it is past time you treat him as such. And I present to you our children: Princess Susan Elizabeth and Prince Jonathan Peter. England has its heir."

"Impossible. Preposterous," he breathed, his face reddening.

"I think you'll find it is all indeed possible. And," she added, flicking her gaze to the ground at his feet, "I expect you to show the proper respect."

He hesitated, clearly examining his position before deciding this wasn't the proper venue to fight. Scowling, he lowered himself to his knees.

"Now, leave us and return to London. You and I will speak again when I am done here."

"Madam --"

"The proper form of address is 'Your Majesty'," she spat, taking one step closer to him, delighting when he recoiled slightly. "I am through playing your games. You would do well to keep that in mind."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"As I said, we are taking a holiday. You will be waiting for me when we return."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

She was still shaking long after he left. Donna had taken the children away while Martha and John wrapped her in blankets and plied her with tea. They whispered where they thought she could not hear that they thought her still weak from Jonathan’s birth and strained from the confrontation with Burghley, but the truth was she was furious. How dare he? The only thing that had stopped her from silencing him with a slap across his ruddy cheek was Jonathan’s presence in her arms.

He would not fare nearly so well when she returned to London.

Throwing off the blankets, she stood.

“Your Majesty --”

“Rose --”

“I am here to enjoy a holiday with my children. I will not let that man ruin it.”

John appeared at her elbow and touched her gently, saying nothing but walking with her to the nursery.

The atmosphere in the room was subdued. Jonathan was asleep in his cot, but Susan merely looked up at them before looking back down at the picture she was drawing. Rose went to her, leaving John to dismiss Donna. As soon as Rose sat down, Susan shifted a few inches away from her. The pain in her heart was so strong and immediate that she nearly checked her bodice for blood.

“Susan --” John started to scold, but Rose raised her hand and he fell silent.

“I’m sorry, Susan.”

“Don’t care.”

Rose sighed. “I know you might not understand now, but I did it to keep you safe and happy.”

Susan grunted. “Don’t care.”

“Princess --”

Finally, her small head lifted. “I’m really a princess?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“And you’re the Queen?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed, and as much as Rose wanted to reach out to her, the thought of being rejected again kept her still.

“You should have told me.”

“I know, and I’m --”

“Because then I could have told Tommy Baker to shut up, and he would have had to listen!”

For a moment, there was absolute silence as Susan turned her attention back to her drawing. Then Rose blinked, and, from behind her, she heard John chortle.

Susan stood and handed Rose the picture she’d drawn. The lines were shaky, but a stick figure in a dress sat upon a large throne. In the corner she’d written ‘Mummy.’

Her eyes stinging with tears, Rose looked from the picture to her daughter. “Thank you, Princess. I love it.”

“I love you, Mummy,” Susan said, throwing her arms around Rose’s neck.

“I love you, too.”

The hug was over too soon, Susan then dashing over to where her father stood and taking his hand.

“Daddy,” she started, dragging him to Jonathan’s cot, “I know he’s my brother, but is he ever going to do anything _fun_? All he does now is sleep!”

As John squatted beside their daughter, his laughter washing over her, Rose got the distinct impression that everything would turn out alright.


End file.
